


Five Times the Grave

by TeamHPForever



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamHPForever/pseuds/TeamHPForever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times that John Watson visited Sherlock's grave</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times the Grave

**Author's Note:**

> This is not betaed so any mistakes are entirely my own. Sherlock BBC belongs to Moffat and Gatiss, and the characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The first time John visited Sherlock’s grave after the burial, it was four months and thirteen days afterwards. He’d run into Molly outside of a coffee shop, both of them just getting off work. They’d exchanged greetings and small talk for a few minutes before John realized that, without Sherlock, there really wasn’t anything connecting them. 

When she was gone, it left John with an insatiable urge to see Sherlock again. Since that wasn’t possible, he’d settle for the smooth black marble of his grave. 

“I saw Molly today,” he said, though it felt strange to say the words out loud. “She’s doing well. Gone on a couple of dates with Stamford. She’s gotten more confident since you’ve been gone. You never did treat her very well.” 

John laughed even as he felt guilty for scolding Sherlock after he was dead. 

“I’m doing okay. Working at the hospital full-time now, every shift I can take. Our flat is too quiet without you. I haven’t been sleeping well without your infernal violin-playing at all hours of the night.” 

Tears dripped down the sides of his face. 

“I miss you, Sherlock.” He tapped the top of the gravestone like he did the very first time and left. 

***

The second time John visited Sherlock’s grave, it was exactly one year after the burial. The anniversary. Mrs. Hudson was with him. She laid a single white rose on the ground in front of the stone, its stem stuck in a test tube. 

“I’ll be waiting in the car,” she said after a few moments of silence, her hand on John’s shoulder. 

John nodded and leaned against the cold marble, needing it as his cane. “I can’t believe you’ve been gone a year,” he said. “I’m still living in our flat and it’s still too quiet. Harry told me she quit drinking again, but I know if you were here you’d tell me that she’s hiding a bottle of scotch under her bed. I wish you’d told me how you knew that.” 

He swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. 

“Lestrade is going mad with a new case. You would have loved this one. A man and a woman found murdered behind a secret bookcase by their maid who swears she didn’t know the room was there until she noticed the smell. One of them might be linked to a rash of arsons. I’ve been helping out however I can, but we both know I’m rubbish at detective work without you. 

“We need you, Sherlock. I miss you.” A tap on the gravestone and he was gone. 

***

The third time John visited Sherlock’s grave, it was one year, seven months, and twelve days after the burial. He was alone and thunderclouds bloomed on the horizon. He knew that he should care if his brand new suit got soaked, but he really didn’t. 

“I met someone,” he said. “Her name’s Mary. Mary Morstan. We’ve been dating about a month now and we get on really well. She doesn’t mind that I’m still obsessed with the strange cases at the Yard. Lestrade did eventually solve that one I told you about, with the room behind the bookcase and the maid. It was the cook, he poisoned them. You would have figured it out so much faster.” 

John smiled and the muscles in his face twinged with the strangeness of the movement. 

“You could probably find something wrong with her—something in her blouse or the way she carries her purse would tip you off—but I can’t. She’s really very lovely and I think I might love her.” 

The rain started pouring down. John paused long enough to tap the gravestone before he made a run for it. 

***

The fourth time John visited Sherlock’s grave, it was two years and three days after the burial. Molly and Mike were with him. They didn’t say anything as they stared down at the stone and then headed back to the car, leaving John alone. 

“Molly and Mike were married last week,” John said as soon as they were out of earshot. “I can’t believe it either. It was a beautiful wedding, though you would have hated it. Full of sentiment and all that. They toasted you at the reception; I think it was Molly’s idea.” 

The whole thing had made John almost break down in tears. He’d thought he was beyond that after two years without his best friend, but it only took a little champagne and a few words to send that crashing down. 

“I took Mary and it got me thinking. I’m going to ask her to marry me, Sherlock. It might be some time from now, but I think she’s the one. You’re scoffing at me right now, I can tell. I don’t care. I don’t know how much longer I can live in our flat before the silence drives me insane. Mrs. Hudson talks all the time about getting another tenant in there but neither of us can bear to move any of your stuff.

“You’d probably think this is stupid but…I still miss you.” Tap. 

***

The fifth time John visited Sherlock’s grave, it was two years, seven months, and twenty-seven days after the burial. He came with Mary this time, her face a strange combination of bright and somber. 

“Mary, this is my best friend, Sherlock. Sherlock, Mary,” John said. If Mary thought the whole affair bizarre, she didn’t let on. 

“Hello, Sherlock. I’ll take care of John, I promise.” She leaned over and kissed John’s cheek. “I’ll leave the two of you alone.” She wandered away to visit her parents buried on the other side of the same cemetery. 

“As I’m sure you’ve already deduced, Mary and I are engaged. I asked her last night, in her living room. I tried to make it all romantic with roses and candles but one of the candles lit her drapes on fire. You’re laughing at me right now, I know it. You thought you were above all us mere mortals but there were still times I could make you laugh.” 

John sighed, the sound rattling his very bones. “I still can’t believe she said yes. We haven’t set a date yet but she wants a fall wedding, just a small one. Neither of us have a lot of friends or family that we want to invite. Hell, I’d probably ask her to elope if she didn’t have her heart set on a nice church wedding. I wish you could be here. I’d love to see the look at your face when I ask you to be my best man. Because I want you to, you know. Be my best man.” 

“I’d be honored.” 

John’s heart stopped. For a moment he could have sworn he heard Sherlock’s voice behind him. Maybe he was going crazier than he thought. The sound of rustling fabric alerted him to the arrival of someone else. It had to be Mary, come back to see if he was okay. 

John turned around. 

A man with familiar angular features, a mop of curly black hair, and a rich dark suit stared back at him. 

“I missed you too, John,” Sherlock said, and instead of a tap he pulled John into his arms for a hug.


End file.
